


Tangled Mess

by Sarcasticles



Category: One Piece
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-22
Updated: 2020-09-22
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:01:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26591818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarcasticles/pseuds/Sarcasticles
Summary: They could treat wounds. They could buy clothes. But there was no one in the Sun Pirates that knew how to fix a little girl’s hair.
Comments: 12
Kudos: 59





	Tangled Mess

They could treat wounds. They could buy clothes. But there was no one in the Sun Pirates that knew how to fix a little girl’s hair. 

“You do it,” Macro told Arlong, trying to shove him forward without much success. “You have a baby sister, don’t you? I bet you had to do her hair a bunch of times.”

Arlong pushed him away so hard he fell to the ground. “You leave Shyarly out of this,” he growled. “I won’t touch it. The disgusting little beast probably has _lice.”_

The Sun Pirates took a collective step backward. They knew of lice under the sea, where humans brought the bloodsucking little insects from the surface to spread among their terrorized victims down below. Fisher Tiger looked askance at Aladdin, and the doctor rubbed his chin. 

“It would probably be best to shave it,” he said regretfully. Bending down, he pinched a lock of matted hair between two fingers, tugging on it to try and separate it from the rest. The girl-child’s grin never faded, but it did tighten around the edges. _Pain._ The hair on her head was causing her _pain._

Hatchi shifted from foot to foot, six arms fidgeting at the thought of shaving Koala’s head. It didn’t seem right after everything else to make the girl go around bald, even if it was only temporary. Hatchi was inordinately fond of _his own_ hair—he couldn’t imagine what it would mean for a little girl to not have any at all. 

“So we’re not even gonna try?” he asked.

“There’s nothing _too_ try,” Jinbe said, his voice tight with impatience. “Arlong’s right, it’s a health hazard.”

“It would take a great deal of time to undo,” Aladdin murmured. 

Arlong sneered down at the girl. “I don’t see why you don’t just throw her overboard. We’re not getting a ransom to send her back, what’s the point of keeping it around?”

A dozen voices roared with outrage. The girl ( _Koala_. She had a name, Hatchi had to remember that) shrank back, making herself so small she threatened to disappear. Hatchi was the only one who noticed, because even if he thought Arlong was wrong that didn’t mean he was going to speak out against his best friend. 

Instead he knelt down and put on his biggest smile, hoping it distracted from the pitched argument behind him. “Hi!”

“Um, hello?” Koala said, her voice uncertain. 

“No one’s asked you yet,” Hatchi noted, wagging three of his hands at her. “Do you want us to shave your head?”

The smile wavered, her eyes unsure and afraid. Koala pressed her forefingers together in a nervous gesture, ducking her head to stare down at her ragged trousers. “I...”

“It’s okay if you don’t,” Hatchi said, hoping that was true. 

Koala’s head snapped back up, eyes glittering like the sapphires they’d pillaged from a merchant ship the week before. Hatchi felt his smile get a little big warmer, a little more genuine. Even with her hair all in tangles, he had to admit she was kinda cute, in a weird, human sort of way. 

“My mom likes my hair,” she said, each word hanging a a tiny puff of air so quiet it almost didn’t reach Hatchi’s ears. 

“I like your hair, too,” Hatchi said, more to himself than anyone else. “Let’s see if you can keep it.”

* * *

  
“I hope this works.”

Aladdin set out a series of brushes and combs commandeered from the various members of the Sun Pirates. Koala sat still as a stone statue in the middle of the infirmary. For the last half hour her hair had been soaked in all the coconut oil that could be found aboard the ship in hopes of loosening the worst of the knots.

“It will work,” Hatchi said firmly. He’d never been to a proper barber shop, but he’d seen pictures, and knew how to wrap towels around her neck to catch the hair that came loose. He caught Koala’s eye and flashed the okay sign, and her smile softened, the tension bleeding from her shoulders. “Ready?” he asked.

Koala nodded solemnly. “Ready.”

Three hands began working her scalp, Hatchi picking through the worst of the tangles as best he could without hurting her. The oil greased his hands, already clumsy with inexperience. The girl bore the treatment stoically, but he couldn’t help but pull and tug at mats of hair so thick they were almost felt. 

“Gentle, Hatchi...” Aladdin murmured. 

“I’m trying!”

And while Hatchi worked, Aladdin talked about everything and nothing, keeping Koala engaged on anything else but the tortures Hatchi was putting upon her scalp. It took almost an hour before Aladdin gave him permission to even _think_ about using a wide-tooth comb, the process no less laborious than using his fingers. Slowly Hatchi fell into rhythm, alternating combs and hands with brisk efficiency. It was kind of like wielding his swords in a way, except the only thing he was attacking was the evidence of a small child’s horrific mistreatment. 

There were lice, or fleas, or some other kind of infestation crawling all over her scalp. Breaking open the matted sheets released a horrendous stench that made Hatchi want to gag. But still he persisted. 

He made her bleed. He wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to forgive himself for making her bleed. 

After awhile he switched places with Aladdin, who swapped the wide-tooth comb and heavy brushes with one with tiny teeth. Inch by inch he cleared her head of nits and their eggs, while Hatchi entertained Koala with slight of hand and stories of Fishman Island. 

It distracted him, too, from the clumps of dead hair that fell to the ground as the doctor worked. So much that he was afraid that they wouldn’t have to use a razor to make her go bald. 

It took hours, but when they finally washed out the last of the oil and the blood, her hair laid flat and straight down her back, longer than Hatchi ever would have thought possible.

“She’ll need a proper haircut,” Aladdin said ruefully, examining the ragged ends. 

“And new clothes?” Hatchi said hopefully. 

“And new clothes,” Aladdin agreed. “Would you like that?” he asked, looking down at Koala.

The girl didn’t seem to hear. She was staring wondrously into the mirror Hatchi was holding, running her hands across the top of her head over and over again, the biggest smile Hatchi had ever seen stretching across her face. 

* * *

  
It was late when Hatchi scrounged the courage to face her. Arlong had forbidden anyone from entering the cartography room, but he was off dealing with some rioting village or other, and Hatchi couldn’t bear the thought of Nami going hungry. 

There were no guards outside her door, because no one except for him was stupid enough to try to help her. Hatchi raised two hands to knock, then paused. Why would he knock at a prisoner’s door?

Nami was working by candle and the light of a full moon. The pale glow (so different than the sun) washed over her, dulling the bright copper of her hair to match the unhappiness in her eyes. She flinched as he entered, instinctively guarding her injured arm. It was her left. Even in a rage, Arlong wouldn’t do anything that might hinder his prized map-maker’s productivity. 

“I brought food,” Hatchi said. 

“Don’t want it,” Nami replied, although it was clear that she wanted it very much. “Stupid tricks won’t work on me. I know what Arlong said: No supper until I finish.”

She brushed her hair out of her eyes, and Hatchi saw that her fingers were bandaged and bleeding. The fingers on her right hand, which must have meant she’d gotten blisters again from overwork. The rest of her was a mess: clothes rumpled, hair tangled, dark circles under her eyes. 

Even if Arlong allowed it, Hatchi thought she probably hurt too much to sleep.

“Arlong didn’t say anything about drink.” Hatchi said. He crossed through the cramped room in three long strides and set a jug on her desk. Nami shrieked in alarm, pulling her precious maps out of reach. 

“Put it on the floor, idiot! You’ll get watermarks on my paper!”

“Sorry, sorry!” Hatchi said, scrambling to do as he was told. “I was just trying to help!”

“I don’t need your help,” Nami snapped. “Now go away, and let me work!”

She was so close Hatchi could touch her. He longed to brush his fingers through her hair, to help rid of the knots like he had all those years ago. 

But he couldn’t. 

So he didn’t.

And he wasn’t sure he could ever forgive himself for making her bleed.


End file.
